If I Ask You To
by KlioStar
Summary: After a traumatic event in her life, Lily Evans has thrown away the key to the door to her past and all those who were part of it, including James Potter. Trying to forget everything, Lily has also forgotten who she is. Will she find her way?
1. Memories of Old

I'm experimenting with a new writing style in this story called stream of consciousness. It isn't as bizarre as in other stories, but I kind of like it. And the story may start out a bit angsty, but I promise it will get lighter later on. There's more to come after this part, by the way. I hope you like!

Summary: After a traumatic event in her life, Lily Evans has thrown away the key to the door to her past and all those who were part of it, including James Potter. Trying to forget everything, Lily has also forgotten who she is. She won't let anyone help her, especially James Potter. Could she find herself again? And if so, would she like what she sees?

Disclaimer: All that is the property of JK Rowling is obviously not of my own creation. I do not claim a right to any of it. However, I do claim a right to everything that is mine. Please ask my permission if you would like to use it. Rated PG-13 for sexual situations, violence and language.

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**_If I Ask You To_**

Copyright by Liliana R., August 28, 2005.

-----

I. 

He left.

And that's the first thing I remember.

After everything that happened, of course. _Everything. Everything. _You roll the word with your tongue, tasting it, chewing it to understand its value. A word that encompasses the universe and its molecules. Yet after a while, it doesn't encompass anything anymore.

That's how I felt. The opposite of everything. Void. Zero. Blank. Like an empty sheet of paper.

Waiting to be filled…waiting to be fulfilled…waiting to be…something, again. To someone. But does it matter anymore?

They say I became a different person when everything happened. Maybe everything sucked the life out of me. Yes, that's it. It sucked the life out of me and left me crying inside for more. Crying like a baby, wanting its mama. Mama. Dad. Gwen.

He wrote me letters. Trying to fill my empty paper with his words. HIS WORDS. Not mine. Words. Another funny sound with no true definition.

I'll give you everything, he told me. "Everything you could want." And he spread out his arms, embracing the world around us, offering it to me like a gift, his mouth wide open in laughter, drinking in the world's juices. And I believed him because of his embracing arms, the ones I felt so safe in. The ones I could trust him with. Because those arms entrapped the world for me, I believed the world was ripe for me to have.

But it wasn't.

And that's when everything happened.

---

_"I guess the carriages are waiting for us," I murmured, spreading out my arms and legs over the warm summer grass and waving them, like a little girl does when she wants to make an angel in the snow._

_Maybe the angel is trapped inside of me, trying to get out. Trying to escape from me._

_"We have a little bit of time left," James told me lazily, plopping down next to me on the ground. He reached out and traced his name on my bare arm. Invisible letters, to remind him that I'm his. Forever._

Forever?

"_I want you to come over to my house for the summer, Lily," said James, lying down on one side with his head resting on his upraised palm. His hazel eyes bore into me, kissing my insides. His firm, determined fingers continued to draw on my skin, circling around the tiny mole I have on the edge of my right shoulder. "I don't want to wait until August."_

_"But we'll see other before then," I reminded him with half-closed eyes. The sun's beams were invading, too nosy into my conversation with James. The field beyond the Forbidden Forest, on the other side of the Quidditch Pitch, was wide open with no shade available at all, and James and I were the only ones there. Our little private place. In the wide-open field._

"_But only a few days," James said in impatience. "We'll both have interviews with work. I'll be starting my Auror training. You'll be interning at the Wizengamot. We won't have enough time to see each other."_

"_We can't have everything, James," I laughed, my mirth breaking into the still, sticky air, surprising it. _

_Suddenly he jumped up with a renewed sense of energy, the spirit that I always admired in him bursting forth. He spread his arms out, the ones that had constantly shut out the fears and doubts from me, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes._

"_I'll give you everything, Lily. Everything you could want. Always."_

_---_

Everything. Always. What do those mean?

**II.**

"James, James, James," I whispered, teetering each mouthful with heightened remorse and pain. Slowly I stretched my hands out in front of me, examining each finger critically. With that finger I look up each meaning of an old law that the Wizengamot will be using in their next case. And with that finger I touch the door ringer on Alice's front door. And with that finger I used to trace James's lips. The ones that told me, "Always."

The beeping of the oxygen container droned in my ears. BEEP. Beep. BEEP. Reminding me that it's there. How could I forget. I hear it in my dreams. And sometimes when I'm awake. How do you distinguish reality?

Looking over at the hospital bed in front of me, I sigh. She'll never change. She's been like this for two years. That's reality.

The long coffee-colored curls that used to frame Gwen's face were trimmed now to a bob, lifeless and staring at me. Like Gwen. Although her brown eyes are closed, I know she's looking at me. Looking at me and asking, "Why, Lily? If you were there, why couldn't you help me?"

I don't know, Gwen. Maybe my angel momentarily left me. Maybe he stepped out for more important things to do. I don't know.

Her face is chalk white. She looks dead. But no, Gwen's not dead. But being in a coma for two years (63,072,000 seconds, 1,051,200 minutes, 17,520 hours, 730 days) is like being in a tomb. And visiting her for three quarters of that time is like visiting a grave. Only she has no epitaph except for the five-inch scar slashed across her cheek.

"Ms. Evans," came a soft voice. A voice trying to be understanding, but not giving a rat's arse whether it understands _you_. "Ms. Evans, it's past visiting hours, dear."

"I'm not a visitor," someone answers. I soon realize it's my voice, speaking for me, trying to mask whatever it is I'm feeling. "I'm Gwen Evans' cousin. First cousin, on her father's side. My father and her father were brothers."

Dad.

"Yes, I understand, dear," the nurse says in her sympathetic mode. "I know Gwen is your cousin, and I'm happy that you spend so much time with her. She needs that. She can hear you, you know."

Gwen, can you hear me? Can you? Just wink like you used to.

"But even so," the nurse sighed, patting her gray perm, "We do have strict regulations. It's past nine o'clock. You can visit Gwen tomorrow if you'd like."

"What I would like is for her to wake up," I murmur, stretching out one finger to touch the tip of Gwen's quilt. The quilt she and I had made, when we were hardly old enough to hold a needle.

"That's what we all would like, dear," the nurse yawns.

An unexplainable fury tore through me right then. How DARE she? How dare she presume that she understands? How dare she presume that she knows Gwen and I and Mum and Dad and Petunia enough to understand what we went through? What we're still going through?

"HOW DARE YOU?" I scream at the nurse, who jumps back in terror. Exasperated with her admittance of a lack in feeling, I whirl around and slam the door behind me, stalking down the crisp hospital corridors, my chest heaving.

Maybe the door's slam will wake Gwen up.

----

"Lily," my best friend, Alice, says in concern. She always starts out her advice or sympathy (now, Alice knows what sympathy is) with saying your first name. I always escape by that time, but in the last two years I haven't had energy to.

We were in her observatory, sitting down for tea. Alice loves tea. I hate it. Just an excuse to socialize. At least, that's what I thought before. But now it reminds me of Mum, so I take tea whenever possible. Even when it's past midnight, usually after I've woken up from one of my nightly, repetitive dreams. Or half-dreams, because they're based on reality. How do you distinguish reality?

"I don't know how you distinguish reality," said Alice, in surprise at my random question. "I suppose…I suppose you sense it."

"How?" I asked, stirring my tea with a dainty silver teaspoon. It had the initials A.M.K embossed in swirling script on its handle.

Alice looked flustered, and she sipped her tea as if it held all the answers. If that were true, I would've died from drinking too much tea a while ago. "I guess it's a sort of seventh sense, if you want to call it that. You know what is real because you can see and touch it."

"You can't touch life. Or death. Or love. Are they real?" I said quietly. I wasn't really asking since I already knew the answer.

But Alice wasn't comfortable talking about these things. In fact, she always tries to divert me from such thoughts. "Lily," she began again, carefully setting her porcelain teacup down onto its porcelain saucer. They fitted together perfectly. "Lily, I'm worried about you."

I tried to smile. "You and the rest of my well-meaning friends."

"It's been two years, Lily," Alice whispered, as if trying to remind me.

"Two years next Tuesday," I corrected her, tapping my fingernail on the small glass table in between us. Tap. TAP. Tap. In rhythm with the passing clouds overhead that spied on us.

"Well then, next Tuesday," Alice agreed. She was such a dear to agree with her half-crazed best friend. "The point is, you shouldn't be like this. You've always told me to be frank with you, and I now will be. Most people think you've lost your mind. You never step into the magical world anymore except for work, and then you go right back to your flat in Muggle London. The only witch you visit is me, and that's only because I threaten you to."

I patted her hand in reassurance. "I don't mind that you threaten me."

"But I do," Alice countered, shaking her blonde head. This time it was done in elegant curls. Curls like Gwen had, only neater and more controlled. "I don't want to push you into visiting me. You've pushed everyone else away. The only people you really spend time with, besides those you see at work –"

"I don't really see them," I interrupted, caressing a jade-colored leaf that drooped over my shoulder. "I have my own office, apart from everyone."

"-Are Gwen and your parents' graves," Alice finished, frowning at my disruption. "That isn't healthy, Lily. What happened to the spirited Lily, the one who believed in life, the one who took care of the underdog, the one knew that actions speak louder than words?"

I stared at her, not bothering to hide the bitterness that I hid from everyone else. "That Lily is gone, Alice. GONE. She watched her parents and cousin being tortured in front of her eyes. She watched her parents yell in tearing pain until they couldn't take it anymore and then DIE. Now her cousin has been in a two-year coma with no hope of waking up. Is that healthy? Is that reality? Tell me, so I can wake up."

Alice remained silent, gazing at the dregs of her chamomile tea, trying to tell her best friend's fortune – or at least find the way she had lost. "No, it isn't, Lily. I can never take away your pain, or try to tell apart what's real in this fantasized world you've walked into." Her blue eyes saddened as she looked at me, filled with unspoken words. "But the question is, do you want to wake up?"

-----

Do I want to wake up? That's the question of my life.

I woke up when I saw my parents fall down dead in front of me. When I saw how Gwen was tortured so badly from the masked men, the ones who control the guillotine called death, that she was paralyzed. She fell into a coma from shock as soon as they left.

So I went back to sleep. To my own dream world. Where everything was blurred, like in one of those Impressionist paintings I saw in a street market. Since it was a copy, its existence was a fantasy as well. I didn't want to open my eyes because then the dotted landscapes and dotted clouds of my world would mold into concrete things, solids objects…too cold. Too real.

Did I want to wake up? No.

I go through the daily routine we call life with rigid motions. I only bothered to stay at the Wizengamot because I didn't want to look for another job. Besides, I have my own office, like I told Alice a week ago, and I don't have to come in contact with anyone that I don't want. I return to my flat, eat if I feel like it, sleep if I can, and then wake up (from sleep, I mean) and do the same thing all over again.

It's dependable, my routine. The only thing I can count on now.

I used to be able to count on him. Before him, it was Alice, but best friends can't substitute the one whom your soul belongs to. He still has it. That's why I'm empty. Shake me, and you hear nothing.

I sometimes sit on my window seat in my tiny flat. It looks over Notting Hill, where I am, and if I lift my head just a little bit I can see Kensington Gardens. They look so much like the fields of Hogwarts, our private place. And the same stars that glisten in the velvet sky are glistening at him, wherever he might be. I wonder if they can send a message?

Stars, I say, give James a hug and a kiss from me. Tell him that I miss him. Tell him that I wish I could be with him, that I wish he could be with me. Maybe he can remind me of who I am. Do I want to be reminded?

Do you? The stars ask me.

I don't know. Ask him if he knows who I am, though. Just to see what he says. Maybe he doesn't know either.

----

**A/N:** I know that cannon says James and Lily married right out of Hogwarts, but ah, obviously, it doesn't happen in this story's timeline.


	2. A Figure in the Darkness

_GoddessoftheMaaN_: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying this.

_Heather_: Wow, I'm flattered. Thank you much.

_OcchiodiLince_: Thank you very much, I appreciate that! Yes, since Lily has kind of lost her sense of who she is (the reason for this will be explained in this update), she is eagerly grasping for any form of sense she can attain.

_And if any of you particularly fancy Marauder stories, I'm writing one right now, called "Now and Then." Some of the characters mentioned in this update are in that story, and since this fanfic is a supplement to "Now and Then," I thought it'd be interesting to add them into this story. _

_Hehe, shameless plugging never hurt anyone. grins_

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**III.**

Circles, ovals, zig zags, up and down, left to right, then the final scrawl with a flourish. My hand put down the pen it was using to sign the paper on the messenger's clipboard.

"Thank you, miss," he says curtly, taking back the clipboard and hugging it to his chest. I wonder if he wanted to receive letters like Bob, Sue, Rupert or me on the list? I wonder if he wants someone to pay attention, to know he's alive, too?

"Here you are, miss," says the messenger, digging into the wet leather pouch hanging on his side and producing a simple envelope. White and crisp like the hospital corridors.

"Have a nice day, miss."

"Sure," I say, shrugging and taking the envelope. I shut the door as he turns around with a puzzled expression, putting on his battered cap when he steps into the steady rain drizzling out of the sky from the clumped, dense gray clouds. It looks like the whole sky is getting ready for something, its masses of clouds marching with heavy steps, looking down on the scurried way of life down here.

Placing the envelope on my breakfast table (really, my only table), I stand back and scrutinize it, titling my head to the right. I fear it might jump at me, pulling my hair and telling me, "I'm here, I'm here. Didn't think I would be, did you?"

I did think so. But I didn't want to believe it.

The envelope is from the stars. I know it.

A letter from Muggle post, a special letter. One that was sent from someone who wanted to make sure I received the letter without any hindrance like my tearing it up if I got it through the regular mail. Strange – I didn't correspond with anyone, Muggle or Wizard alike.

Finally I step forward, and taking a deep breath, I tear open the seal with my ring finger, the one I used to trace James's lips with. Slowly I do this, as though the more time that passed before my reading the letter, the more I can stop the inevitable from happening. But as it always does, the inevitable happens.

_Lily, _

I don't use "dear" because I'm not sure if I can call you that anymore.

I am on a short holiday from my Auror training, here in Romania. I will be in London this weekend, and I want to talk with you. I've heard that you hardly leave your house, but if you decide to do so in case you want to avoid me, you needn't try. My Auror training will compensate; I've been taught to find anyone, anywhere.

**_James_**

"Perfect," I muttered, tossing the letter over my shoulder and sinking down onto my crooked dining chair. James is coming. Isn't that what I wanted? The stars did transmit the message…but now I wasn't sure if he should come.

I didn't want him to see me like…this. I used to be so vivacious, warm, and funny. That was before I woke up. It was all in the package of the part I was playing in my fantasy world, the world I felt I was princess of – in control of everything, even life and death.

Life and death. I loved one and was unafraid of the other. They were my minions, at my beck and call. Youth blinded me and made me think that I could control you. How wrong I was.

My parents weren't supposed to die. Gwen wasn't supposed to become permanently paralyzed and at the point of death. And once the inevitable happens, I tried with all my might to catch up to it, but I wasn't able to.

And now James strides into the picture, thinking that he'll find the old Lily, the one he fell in love with. But all he'll find is her casket.

Lily, Lily…listen to yourself, a voice inside my head chastised me. You sound so gloomy and bitter. Return to who you were! Return to what was safe.

I stride over to my heaping pile of books, which are crammed into the metal bookcase next to the overstuffed loveseat of my miniscule living room. Crouching down, my fingers flutter over several copies until they find what they are looking for: a dusty, yellowed album. It used to be of just a plain black cloth, but in our nostalgic weeks of pre-graduation, Alice, Riona (how much I miss her!) and I filled our hands with construction paper, used dress sequins, old ballroom ribbons, spare buttons from cloaks used in our old adventures, and our fingers' ink prints. Combined together, they decorated the album, identical to the ones Alice and Riona made, of our years in Hogwarts. As I opened the book, leaning back against my turquoise-painted wall, a slight shiver ran through me. The ghosts of the past and the whispers of their memories seemed to penetrate the room and seep into my own heart.

Biting my lower lip I turned to the first page, the one taken of Alice and I in our first-year, giggling and making peace signs at the camera. Alice was patting her satin pink ribbon while I made faces at whoever had taken our picture. The crinkling of pages was the only sound in the room as I went through page after page: Riona and I in our fourth year, her long black hair flying around her like a cloak, mine desperately falling from the ponytail, both of us laughing our heads off as we run backwards in front of the towering castle…Remus, Sirius and Peter (my, how long has it been since I've seen them?), hiding behind a statue of Boris the Bewildered, holding dungbombs in their hands as they get ready to aim at some innocent passing second years…Riona, Alice and I, in our Christmas ball dresses, attempting to look like ladies…Alice and Frank, dancing with such elegance and waving at me…Riona singing for us, her eyes shining.

And then I flipped to the latter part of the album, where I knew the special section was. Love sick as I had been, I had dedicated several pages to pictures of only him and I, in our seventh year – the year we seriously began seeing each other.

Each picture told our story better than I could ever do. James and I, staring at each other, our foreheads touching; James holding me in his arms, about to toss me into the lake, deaf to my cries and beatings on his shoulder to try and stop him; James with his arms around Remus and Sirius, all three beaming into the camera and winking roguishly; and my favorite one of him was last. It showed James, his athletic frame stretched out on the empty field beyond the Quidditch pitch, glasses on top of his mussed black hair. His arms were folded behind his head, and his warm hazel eyes were smiling up at me, taking his picture. The magical elements of the photograph enabled him to look more vigorous and _alive_ than any mundane Muggle picture could ever do.

"Why are you coming here?" I whispered. But he only winked in response, deaf to my cries once more.

----

James's arrival that day was like my past catching up to me again, reminding me of what I once was; I had been running away from that realization for the past two years. I didn't want to see its reflection in his eyes.

But I also knew that I couldn't avoid James, even if I ran off, which occurred to me more times than I could count as I waited for him that evening. He would know where I was, Auror training or not. He always did know me better than I knew myself.

So here I sit, clad in some plain jeans and the violet peasant blouse I had worn that entire day. I hadn't bothered to fix myself up; why should I? He was most likely only coming here for a little while. We didn't have much to say to each other.

A small card had arrived earlier, with his name (all professional-like: James F. Potter, Junior Auror 1st class, under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, London Headquarters) and only two words written on the back: _seven o'clock_. He always did like to remain mysterious, I thought, shaking my head.

And then my door's knocker sounded. Two determined thumps. My heart drumming loud in my ears, I stood up and made my way to the door, hesitating before I opened it. I turned all three locks and one hook, then pulled back the door.

There he was.

His cloak was soaking wet, its ends dripping rainwater on the hallway's checkered linoleum floor. He had pulled down his hood a while ago, I suspect, because his hair (my heart beat louder as I noticed it was as mussed, as black, and as energetic as ever) was damp, as was his black collared robes. Because the corridor's lighting was very dim, I couldn't really outline his face, but I knew he was examining me as closely as I was doing to him.

"Hi," he said, haltingly. Unsure. Something James had never been.

"Hello," I replied, before turning around and leaving the door open for him to pass.

James cleared his throat before stepping into my flat, and I immediately felt as if I had let a stranger inside. Who was this tall, muscled, suntanned man standing before me? He only seemed like a shadow of the athletic and grinning boy I used to know.

But he still wore his glasses. They glistened under my flat's lights as he took off his cloak and folded it over one of my dining chairs. I grew only a bit more comfortable, and I sat down on my sofa, my legs folded underneath me.

"Why are you still wearing your glasses?" I asked him abruptly.

He gave a small jump as if he were surprised I could speak. Gesturing to the armchair across from me, he silently asked me if he could sit down. Ever the gentleman. When I nodded, he settled into it and leaned back, trying to gain some ground of security in the distance I was emphasizing between us.

"I guess I'm used to them," he responded like there had been no interruption. "They've been with me almost my entire life. I don't see why I should leave them even if there've been some new charms to correct eyesight."

"So you don't like change." I said this with resolution, not bothering to be polite. Why should I be? There was nothing between us anymore.

"I don't like to throw things away," James corrected, his eyes appraising me. I didn't like his gaze; I felt like I was some puzzle he was trying to break. So I changed the subject.

"How have you been?" I figured that was the usual thing to ask when one hasn't seen their boyfriend/lover/almost-fiancé for two years.

"Oh, you know, I've been busy with training and all," James nodded, taking this question in stride. I hated his affected easiness. "I've been in Romania for the past seven months, learning how to deal with dark magical creatures. It's…been interesting." He cleared his throat once more.

"You're almost finished, right?" I asked, my eyes wandering to the dirty dishes in my sink. A fly buzzed around, trying to hunt for remains.

"Yeah. I only have a year to go."

"Well, that's nice."

"Your hair is, erm shorter," James observed, trying to renew the dead conversation.

I fingered the ends of my auburn hair, which stood a few inches above my shoulders. "Yeah, I got tired of my long hair," I lied, knowing that I would never tell him the real reason. Dad always loved my long hair.

"_Don't ever cut your hair, puppet," Dad said with a smile at me, as he took some toast from the platter on the breakfast table. "You look like Rapunzel with that rich, abundant hair of yours. A real Titanian princess."_

A pregnant pause followed. The fly lost interest in my dirty plates and meandered to my potted white roses.

"Lily, I hate this." James never could handle silence. And then I realized it's the first time he said my name for so long; despite his affected formality, even he couldn't stop his tongue from caressing my name and rolling it out with gentleness. "Why are you being so cold to me?"

I was momentarily flustered from hearing him saying my name, just like he used to before…before everything. All I could answer was a meager excuse, "I'm just tired."

"No, you're not," James countered, shaking his head. He rubbed the back of his head in frustration. "You've…you've hidden yourself away, Lily. Away from me, away from Alice, away from Riona –"

"Riona's gone," I calmly say. "She's been gone since graduation, you know that."

"But I know you two have corresponded since then."

My old temper flared up; it tended to do whenever I wanted to get away from him. "How do you know that? Have you been snooping through my letters? How pathetic, James. That's a new low, even for you."

James clenched his jaw, trying to restrain himself. "I know because she wrote to me, Evans. At least, from the only letter that could reach me. She said she hasn't heard from you since our last day at Hogwarts."

"So?" I shot back. "It was best for her, James. Best for everyone that I didn't contact them."

"Is that what you've thought all this time?" James whispered, leaning forward. When I pulled away, folding myself into my space, he swallowed and leaned back again. "You didn't want us to see you hurting so much?"

I arched an eyebrow, giving him a small, disdainful smile. "Oh yes, I was so concentrated on not trying to hurt _your_ feelings, even though I had two funerals to plan as well as attend to my comatose cousin. How very astute of you, Potter."

His eyes flashing with anger, James threw up his hands in exasperation. "What do you want me to say, Lily? Give me a hand here; I can't help you if don't want to help yourself. I'm not saying mourning for your parents or attending your cousin is wrong – I admire you for caring for them until their last moments! But you can't keep mourning forever, Lily, they wouldn't want you to do that!"

I jumped up, his words stinging too close too home. My whole body was stiff with icy confrontation. "How do you know I want to be helped, James? Don't start playing the little hero with me. I don't need rescuing. I didn't call you here to comfort me! You came yourself, and quite rudely by the way: 'I've been taught to find anyone, anywhere?' What am I, your next d.amn criminal to chase?"

The air tensing with edgy emotions and unspoken thoughts, James stood up as well, his tall frame imposing on the small space I had centered around myself as my defense. "Look, _you_ were the one who didn't answer my letters. I went off to Auror training just a few days after graduation, Lily, remember? When I left, you were happy and smiling at your parents' house!" He started pacing, striking my memory with his usual sign of racing internal feelings.

"The next thing I know, I'm reading in the _Prophet_ how your parents were killed and your cousin was paralyzed by Death Eaters right in front of your eyes! The papers say it was a gesture of vengeance by Voldemort to Dumbledore for Dumbledore's interference in stopping Voldemort's goblin alliance in the middle of the war, but I didn't care. All I thought about was you. I spend night and day writing letters to you since I couldn't leave training." He whirled around to face me, his face reddened and etched with crumpling pain. "But I never heard from you again."

I stood frozen in my place, masking any reaction to James's hurt. I've grown quite an expert at hiding what I feel from others since I can't stand their looks of pity. Besides, I didn't think I had any more tears left for anyone. But I couldn't ignore my heart breaking as I realized the hurt, instead of the relief, that I had extended by breaking away to one so dear to me. I felt like I was losing him all over again, like I had lost the everything he had promised to me all over again.

Apparently James noticed my faltering, for he draws closer, shortening the distance between us inch by inch. "Tell me why, Lily. Why did you push me away? All I wanted…" his voice breaks, and he looks down as he steps even closer, "All I wanted was to be with you, to go through what you went through, to take care of you."

"Someone to take care of me," I repeat that to myself, trying to understand that idea. "That's new, I have to admit."

"Tell me."

He looks up at me then, his eyes commanding. _You owe this much,_ he says to me through his steady gaze. The intensity between us deepened as I sighed, imagining that my breath was inhaled by him, taking my heart with it.

"I…" Licking my lips, I avoided his eyes, which were starting to make me feel as though he could see me completely naked in my heightening anxiety as I recounted the reasons he wanted.

"I pushed you – you, Alice, Riona, even Remus, Sirius and Peter – I pushed you all away because I couldn't have you be anywhere near me. Not because I didn't want you to, but because I didn't want to see all of you die in front of my eyes just like Mum, Dad and Gwen. The Death Eaters…" My hand involuntarily flew to my forehead, as though to contain the raw memory from spilling out of my mind for James to examine and analyze.

James gently pulled my hand down, taking it in his. His strength vibrated through me in that touch. "The Death Eaters?"

I forced my eyes to meet his probing ones, slowly. "The Death Eaters made that clear."

_Gwen lay on our living room wooden floor, gasping on four violently trembling legs. The same pine floor that was scratched from our playing tag and hide-and-seek so often, the same floor that had been covered with the mismatched cloth we used to make our quilt…the same floor was flooded with her last drippings of blood. _

The bodies of Daphne and Carson Evans were lying next to Lily's cousin, their faces devoid of any trace of life. They looked like two wax dolls, except that the severe gashes, engraved wounds, and missing body parts spoke of the torture that had finally rendered them dead.

I couldn't stop staring at them from my place by the front door, my wrists and ankles bleeding from my repetitive efforts to undo the tight ropes holding me together. Mesmerized and at the same time terrified by the thin line between life and death, I was numbed of any feeling or thought. All I could think of was that this was all a nightmare, a vision, a dream – anything but real. This couldn't be real…this wasn't happening to me.

Gwen drew her eyes to meet mine, the profound slash on her cheek revealing the muscles underneath her ripped skin. All she could manage through her choking on her own blood was, "Lily…"

Steps resounded in my ear, to my left, dragging me into the brutal reality before me. "Ah, Lily…your cousin seems to be dying…she is in her last moments…shall I put her out of her misery?"

"No," said another Death Eater, her voice cruelly amused at the sight. "The Muggle doesn't deserve mercy."

"Now," said the first Death Eater, crouching down to meet my eyes with his ruthless blue ones that scowled at me from beneath his protective mask – the eyes of Rodolphous Lestrange, the ones that had always sneered at me in school. "Do you understand why we did this, Ms. Lily?"

"Because Dumbledore interfered in Voldemort's plans," I said dully, feeling like I was about to retch. My throat was soar from so much wretched screaming, and I felt the bile rise sourly, stinging.

The female Death Eater, whom I couldn't recognize, hissed at the mention of her dark lord's name, but Rodolphous held up a commanding hand.

"That's right," said Rodolphous in a conversational tone. "Your little croaking leader of that bloody resistance called the Order of the Phoenix is our true victim. Your family only stood in our way…but I'll let you in on a little secret." He drew closer, caressing my hair. I didn't even fight to resist him, barely having the energy to breathe as Gwen was slowly dying before me.

Stooping to the level of my ear, Rodolphous whispered, "Our master also knew that you were part of Dumbledore's resistance. He wanted to teach you a little lesson, too, in case you ever decide to take up the heroic trip again." He shoved my head away from him, chuckling. "**Never** mess with the Dark Lord."

"Or next time," the female Death Eater threatened, flipping her white blonde hair over her shoulder, "It's your ickle friends."

The Death Eaters laughed, sounding like nails scratching over a blackboard. And then they disappeared.

Gwen panted heavily, trying to crawl towards me, but her legs falling underneath her. She stretched out one beaten hand to me before she collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

And I was left inside my family's grave.

**IV.**

James didn't say anything once I finished, thoroughly spent from recalling the past into my brightly lit living room. I don't dare try to meet his gaze, which seems to penetrate to my most hidden, dark secrets…the secrets I had set up in my heart behind closed doors, never to open unless one man chose to unlock them.

"Have you…told this to anyone else?" James finally said, breaking the suspended air between us. But he still wouldn't look at me, and I began to worry if he thought, just like I had for countless insomniac nights, that I was guilty of what happened to my family.

"No," I murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. My eyes trailed to the floor, and I stretched my right foot to run over the fluffy white carpet. "You're the only one who's asked me what really happened. Everyone else tries to make me feel better by avoiding the subject."

"I'm surprised you actually gave me an answer," James admitted, letting his head sink into his upraised palms.

I shrugged, picking off a thread from my peasant blouse. "You could always make me talk."

At length he raised his eyes to mine, my room's lamp causing his glasses to glare and shield his eyes from my scrutiny. I was dying to know what he thought of all this, what he thought I should do…what he thought of me. He had been such an important part of the fantasy world I had lived in before this all happened. If he understood me, really understood me…then maybe he can remind me of who I was in that world so that I could return to it and forget all this ever happened. Isn't that what I wanted?

I don't know anymore.

"Lily," he whispered, bringing all the old feelings back. By means of that one word, he held me captive me all over again, and I didn't bother to look for a way out. With James, sinking feels like floating, falling is flying, and dying means utter bliss.

But these feelings were heightened in their intensity, because I saw something new in the gaze James held me in. Not a lifesaver, not a knight in shining armor, not a hero. Nor did I see the giggling girl I had been two years ago, carefree of any worry or loss. I saw something else, something that greeted me with such warmth and strength that I felt like I was momentarily pulled out of the darkness that had engulfed me so long.

Before I could understand what it was that I saw in him, James pushed his glasses on top of his head, stood and leaned toward me, his whole body crouched over my slightly trembling frame. Yet when he touched my cheek with his thumb, tenderly and pleadingly, all he said was, "I…"

And then he kissed me, his firm lips greeting mine like long-lost lovers with the desperation of unbroken passion.

Remember me? His lips asked mine.

How could I not? Mine answered tentatively, yielding to him.

I want to kiss everything that's made you so frozen to emotion, they tell my lips as they wedge mine open and our tongues discover each other once again.

"I don't mind," I murmur as we pull apart to breathe, our chests heaving from barely restrained sensations.

Still bending over me, his arms on either side, James looked at me with clouded eyes and a small smile. "I didn't mind that either. I…I didn't know how to tell you how-how horribly sorry I am for everything that's happened, how I wasn't there for you like I was supposed to be –"

"Don't talk," I whisper, placing my ring finger to his now reddened lips. I trace them like I used to, remembering each line and curve while meeting James's eyes, which grew darker with each passing second. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, I pulled him down to me again and drew him into another losing kiss.

Losing any reason or logic…driving away any memory of what's happened, any excuse of why we shouldn't be doing this…

I throw these all away as the kiss grows into something further, our bodies melting into each other perfectly, both of us caught up in a whirlwind of escape and discovery, loss and love…


	3. Twilight

_I'm SO sorry about this outrageously late update, everyone. I don't blame you if you won't continue to read. But...I still hope you will, LOL. _

_Amanda: Thank you very much! _

_LittleSunflower: Wow, thank you!_

_Siriusly.Mad.for.Sweets: Aww, thank you. I really appreciate that!_

_GoddessoftheMaaN: I hope you like this update as well!_

_A/N: This fic is rated M for a reason. Turn back if you're squeamish. Although, there's not much "M" content anyway._

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**V**.

I'm standing before a towering yet drooping Willow by a small bank, except that there is no sound. All is in stillness, staunch silence. The river below begins to softly whisper to me a marred melody, one that I can faintly recognize, but which is broken as though someone had ripped its song out and left it with mere words. Useless words.

_Do you remember me, Lily?_

_…No…_

_Or is it that you don't want to remember?_ the river murmurs, almost knowingly.

The Willow's leaves finger my cheeks, touch my tears, and hangs its melancholy branches into the river. _Drip, drip, drip_ – it drops my tears back into the river's gentle, flowing depths…

_I don't want to remember. It hurts too much,_ I finally answer, shutting my eyes from the memories.

"Lily."

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"…I'm not sure."

"I thought so. You still haven't learned to think before you act, have you?"

"I never will," I answer, opening my eyes – for I know I can' t bother keeping them closed anymore. Dad never tolerated being ignored.

His brown eyes were smiling at me, like they always used to when my five year-old self came home, bouncing because I had drawn a picture for him…or when I received my letter from Hogwarts…or when I fell in love with James. Those eyes, so welcoming, so accepting – the eyes that had never failed to put me in the place that I belonged in.

"What are you doing, poppet?" Dad repeated, folding his arms. "This is a dream. You can tell me everything."

There was darkness below and above us, and we were suspended in mid-air. Dad was facing me, wearing his favorite checkered shirt and lucky pair of trousers – the ones he swore had won him every single chess game he had ever played. Just the mere sight of him brought tears to my heart; my heart, and not my eyes, because I couldn't let Daddy see me cry.

"I don't know," I whispered, wanting to jump into his arms, but at the same time escape far away from here. I couldn't deal with this…not now…but I couldn't help it. Even though this was a dream, I couldn't help not being captivated by my Dad's presence, the one that I had been wishing for so many times.

"The Willow knows," Dad teased, the wrinkles around his face fanning out into the "rays of sunshine" I had dubbed, ever since I was old enough to crawl into his lap and trace them with my small fingers. "The Willow can tell what you feel, Lily. Remember our days by the bank? You and I always played that game…whichever direction the Willow's leaves blow, that's the way we'll take to go home."

I gave him a small smile. "I'm too old for the Willow, Dad. I'm too old for everything."

"No one's ever old, poppet," Dad rebuked me, shaking a stubby finger. "You're as old as you want to be. And lately you've been wanting to be too old for life."

I examined him, my eyes memorized by his ruddy cheeks, the dark red hair on the sides of his head, the way his hands always found their way into his trousers' pockets…"I'm just living up to my responsibilities. Someone has to take care of Gwen."

"And are you really taking care of her?" he asked quietly, appraising my face as well.

Caught a bit off guard, I stared at him. "Of – of course. I visit her everyday, I bring her favorite things, I talk to her, I make sure she's always comfortable –"

"No, I mean do you take _care_ of her," Dad interrupted, arching his furry eyebrows. "Taking care of Gwen means taking care of her _yourself_. The Lily who's been with Gwen for the past two years isn't Lily Evans. It's her shadow."

At this, tears really filled my eyes, and my voice cracked as I tried to continue. "Daddy, I've tried – I've tried so hard to be the Lily I used to be. I just can't, I can't! I can't be carefree anymore, I can't laugh all the time, I can't believe in the best in people, I can't assume that everything will have its own happy ending. I just…I'm not able to anymore."

"Well," said Dad, rubbing his bushy beard with two thoughtful fingers, "Why don't you try being the Lily you want to be? Now there's an idea!" He looked enormously pleased with himself, wearing the same beaming smile that a winning chess game always gave him. "I liked the old Lily better. The one I knew before she was swept off into her own little ideals, trying to save the world with her own aspirations of what an actual rescue is."

"I joined the Order so I could help save lives, Daddy," I said, shaking my head. "But look where it got me! My whole family is practically dead and my friends are threatened by merely communicating with me."

"Did you think it would be easy?" he demanded, planting an intense look on me that made my shoulders stiffen. "Did you think that you could win this war against Voldemort with your hands tied behind your back? This isn't one of the fairytales or pirate stories you grew up with, poppet. There are bound to be sacrifices –"

"But not something like this!" I shouted, backing away from him. "Not something like losing everyone I loved!"

"That is what rescuing means, Lily Elizabeth Evans!" My father replied calmly. "Risking your world, your loved ones, yourself to save the lives of innocent people. When you told us you joined the Order to fight against Voldemort, your stepmother and I were so proud! We knew you had what it takes, but I was afraid you were still a child to understand what you were getting yourself into."

He stepped towards me then, his eyes as warm as ever. "My child, you have the great heart needed to risk everything. That's why you're still standing, after everything that's happened. Everything had been handed to you, and then it was lost. But you're still trudging on, trying to take care of Gwen and living for her. However lost you yourself might be, you haven't lost your heart. You can never lose your heart poppet, unless you willingly choose to lose it. And you're on that path now, Lily."

_Ask the Willow,_ the river whispered.

-----

**VI**.

"Lily," a deep voice murmured into my ear.

My eyes flew open, and I found myself looking at my night table with my alarm clock (whose alarm never works) ticking the time of seven-thirty in the morning. The morning's rays of light shed over my room like a blanket of warmth, caressing my bare skin.

Then I felt fingers – firm, masculine ones – stroking my bare shoulder. I suddenly realized there was a warm, muscled, _very_ male body next to me in my bed, under my yellow cotton sheets.

_Oh, no._

"Lily," James repeated, draping an arm over me, his mouth just above my ear, his breath cuddling my lobe. "Are you awake, love?" As he softly nibbled my ear, delicious heat burned through every inch of my body... and my mind suddenly had a flash of our bodies slick with sweat, rolling over my bed in fervant ecstacy...

I pulled the sheets up to my mouth, my mind racing with an effort to remember everything that had happened last night…and then I couldn't stop the memories: the gentle whispers, the urgent sighs, James leaning over me, slowly and steadily pumping with my legs around his waist while my mouth made love to his mouth...

I tried not to notice the toned muscles of James's bare arm as it snuck its way around me, his body pressing against my back, his skin's heat dancing with my own, teasingly, temptingly.

"Ah…why do you ask?"

"You were just murmuring something," James answered, his voice thick with sleep, and I had to fight a pleasant shiver. "I thought you were having a nightmare."

Then the memory of my dream shot through my mind's eye: my dad…a river…the Willow…whispers and a melody, broken in its tune…

_What are you doing, poppet?_

"What are you doing here, James?" I asked abruptly, turning to face him, the sheet still pulled up to my nose. His hair, messier than ever, made James look like he had a wild night…I flushed brightly.

James looked taken aback, for his drowsy eyes opened to meet mine in confusion. "I – we –"

"I know we had sex. I mean, why did you come back?"

He pulled himself up, placing his head on his upraised palm and peering at me. Black hair mussed, his morning stubble starting to cover his face, and his naked, toned chest staring at me, he didn't look that intimidating. No, indeed…but I forced myself to concentrate on his face, which had never failed to lie to me, no matter how hard he tried.

"I came to see you," he replied simply, hazel eyes warm while casting me a devilish grin. "And I must admit, I received a better greeting than I expected."

A deep blush washed over my face, but I tried to push it down – vainly, and consequently it succeeded in making my face look like a tomato. "This was a mistake, James. I never –"

"You never what?" he asked, reaching over to pull down the sheet. "You never wanted to kiss me? You never wanted to make love to me?" He gave me a crooked smile. "That's not what you told me last night, in my arms…"

"I was caught up in the moment," I interrupted, refusing to let him cast his spell over me again. "Last night was –"

"Wonderful," he said huskily, caressing my face with his thumb. "Marvelous. Magical. Yes, I think those are the right words."

"They're not," I breathed, his face closing in on mine before I could protest. I resigned myself to him, yielding to his disarming kisses all over again. I didn't want to fight it, because I now recalled what I had seen in his eyes last night, what had pushed me to kiss him, what had urged us to make love.

As our kiss deepened, I wrapped my arms around him, trailing my fingers down his back and through his hair, losing myself in our connection. He tugged at my bottom lip with his own, stretching our kiss, and I pulled him closer, melding our face together so that our breathing was one. James then started tracing my face with his lips, as though he wanted to memorize every inch of it.

"I've missed this so much - spending my mornings with you," he whispered, finally pulling away and leaving me breathless. His voice was just as tender as his lips, making my heart soar with the wings his eyes had given me last night.

"Or spending my nights with you," I murmured, lacing my fingers around his neck, casting my eyes down to examine the sheets between us. How much is between us still….

"But you know this can't continue, James."

His lilting kisses into my hair paused, and he readjusted himself so he was sitting on his side looking at me again. This time the loving desire that engulfed his eyes now broke down, to be replaced by a shrewd observation. "What do you mean?"

I cleared my throat while wishing to clear my thoughts as well, but I met his eyes without restraint. "I don't want you to think last night wasn't special for me, because it was." I reached out my hand to hold his, caressing it like I had caressed him last night, and I continued, haltingly.

"But I have to admit that your coming here was something that I had not been expecting or wanting. I was afraid of what you might bring with you, James…my past. I didn't want to remember the Lily that existed in Hogwarts. She was the one who was part of another world, a dream world. And I couldn't bear taking a glimpse of that world, because I was afraid that I'd wish to be back in it."

"And you don't want to be back in it because you think you'll be let down again," James finished in a soft voice, eyeing every crease in my face that was the result of so many doubting and harried nights.

"Yes." It had always been like this between him and I. I wasn't surprised that our connection hadn't been crushed despite these long two years. "Besides, I can't risk our relationship after what happened."

Sighing, James tucked a tendril of my hair behind my ear. "Why don't you let me make that decision?"

I shook my head firmly. "It's not only you, James. It's Gwen. If I'm involved with you, the Death Eaters might go after Gwen, too. Everyone knows by now that you're in league with Dumbledore."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"For some people, it is."

"What he's doing is heroic, Lily. He's doing something that the Ministry is not even capable of doing – Dumbledore is uniting the people and taking a stand against Voldemort!" James stared at me. "Can't you see that? _You_ were the one who first told me meabout the Order, remember?"

"James," I began, choosing my words carefully, "I thought I saw that, once, but it's not a part of my life anymore. And I'm not criticizing you for allying with Dumbledore…that's what I've always loved about you," I added, kissing his chin, "You stand against the odds, no matter how dark they may seem. But I have to take care of Gwen. She's all I have left in the world."

"So what am I? Chopped dragon liver?" he scowled.

"You're James Frederick Potter," I said, brushing his messy hair with my hand. "And you'll always have a place in my life. But nothing else is possible for us right now."

"All right, then let me tell you something," said James, fixing me with such an intense, probing look that made me feel as if he was undressing me emotionally, "When I saw you last night, you're right, you weren't the Lily Evans I had known at Hogwarts. You aren't laughing all the time, you don't seem carefree, and you're not as bold as you were before…."

Suddenly my dream from last night rushed into my mind, and I recollected my father's words…

_"I liked the old Lily better. The one I knew before she was swept off into her own little ideals, trying to save the world with her own aspirations of what an actual rescue is."_

"But you're still _Lily_," he murmured, cupping my face with his strong hand. "When you kissed me last night, I recognized you as the Lily I'd fallen in love with. The Lily who cares more about others than herself, who doesn't care what anyone thinks, who has an inner strength that's made her survive everything that's happened to her." Then his face hardened, and he took away his hand, leaving me alone again.

"But the Lily Evans I knew wouldn't succumb to all her fears like this," James went on, shaking his head in disbelief. "She'd find another way to live her life. She'd go back to the Order, go back to the magical world, and make those Death Eaters pay for what they did. But most importantly, she wouldn't give up on hope so easily."

With one final look that sent chills to my heart, he reached for his clothes and was dressed before I could muster a word, then disapparated.

-----

I took the river's advice. After all, at this point, I didn't have a choice.

That same afternoon on the day James left I pulled on my heaviest coat and walked into the steady rain. Faint rolls of thunder greeting me as I crossed the street into a deserted corner behind my flat. It was crowded with rubbish bins and broken crates since it used to be an ally to a store that had once been next to my flat, but it's been closed off for several years. Now, it was the resting place for street cats and your average dog-sized rat.

In other words, no one would see a strange woman in a trench coat disappearing within the blink of an eye.

So much for my not-using-magic-unless-I'm-at-work deal.

Within a second I was facing a small forest off a northern motorway near Surrey. The wood was unchanged since the last time I had been there: its towering oaks and mossy hills spread out before me as old friends, grown old from progress outside its depths, as though it were untouchable by such things as time.

I knew I'd find my answers there.

_Come, come,_ it says, Come and we'll answer your questions, just like when you were a little girl.

Will you? Will you give me real, full, everything answers?

Everything is such a small word, they murmur.

I walked towards the lofty trees' whispers, the gentle rain stroking their leaves and causing them to sparke like tears. Creaking branches moved in the whistling wind, stretching and pointing out the way for me.

I soon found the bank where my father and I had played, frozen in time like the rest of the woods. It was located on an isolated spot at the edge of the dense forest, and the little river ran just as musically as it had done when my seven year-old fingers splashed its depths. A willow's leaves trailed over into it just like my fingers had, and as I turned, I saw the old Willow, gnarled withdignity as it stood behind me.

Ghosts of the past crept over the still bank as I stared at the willow, their soft voices flowing in the wind. Istood, my breath caught in my throat, as I saw all that I had wanted to forget…

A little girl, her bright, fire-red hair done up in pigtails, ran toward the Willow. She grasped its wrinkled bark with her small hands, bouncing and laughing. Then a man, in his thirties, rushed up to her, panting but laughing as well. Their game had finished at the tree, and the girl had won, her triumph expressed in hugging her father with delight.

_"Got here, first Daddy!"_

This vision evaporated into one of the girl, this time older, her eyes dreamy and her lips spread into a smooth smile. An air of happiness and satisfaction with the world around her danced with the castles in the air that drifted over her head…

Before I could utter a word, this apparition drifted into another of the same girl, her hair darkened into a deep auburn, her green eyes glistening with hope as she walked along the bank. She patted her left palm with the broken stick she was holding in rhythm with her steps…

One, two, one, two, one step, two steps…wandering, never taking a thought to where she was going…traveling where the larking wind pulled her, where the rushing water pointed her to…

Gasping, I clasp a hand to my mouth, muffling my words. "I remember this."

How could I have forgotten? This was the night when James had left for Auror training, the night before the Death Eaters' visit at home. I wanted to get away from Petunia's bragging about her fiancée, away from my parents planning a wedding shower for her…

And I came here, because this was where I had felt more like myself than anywhere else, even in James's arms.

"One, two, one, two," the girl's ghost murmured, her stick echoing. She treaded the bank's muddy sides with bare feet, coming toward me. My eyes fluttered closed with memory as she drifted through me and stopped at the Willow.

"No matter where I go," the girl said to herself, examining the stick before tossing it aside and examining the Willow with a smile, "I'll always come back here, where I hid my hopes and dreams. They'll never go away, will they, Willow? Point me in the direction I'll take to go back home."

The wind rustled the Willow's leaves and branches, and the girl followed their direction with curious eyes as they aimed my way.

Then she disappeared into the mist that was crawling its path over the forest.

What are my dreams, my heart asks into the air. What are my hopes? I don't remember them. Did they go away from here? Did they leave when they saw I wouldn't come back for them?

I pulled my wet hair back, rain still coming down around me, almost protecting.

Didn't anyone ask that? What do we do when we've lost ourselves?Life has nolost and found box, and the future holds empty promises for someone who doesn't have a past.

I remembered last night's dream, and then recalled what the forest had just reminded me of. My past. Maybe it's not as scary as I thought it was. Was the past really responsible for what happened to my parents, to Gwen, to me?

But, despite what would happen that night, the Willow - fate, the supernatural, I could believe in anything ever since I became a witch - had pointed me back home. Back home to witness my family's murders. Does this mean their deaths had to happen?

One thing I felt that I knew for sure. My family wouldn't want me to die, too.

The empty room in my heart began to swell with the memories that started to knock on its door, and a small smile came to my lips. How could I forget what my past offered to me: the sweet memories of my loving father and stepmother, of Gwen's vivacious laughter, of my love for everything that grew?

Just like this forest. This forest that is prodding me, urging me, pushing me to remember who I was.

I was that playful little girl. I was the dreaming young teenager. And I was the hopeful, curious, yet determined young woman that asked the Willow to show her the way home. Because, after all, none of us are sure of how to go back. Trekking into what we know is sometimes scarier than going into the unknown. Without someone to show us the way, we wouldn't know how to go forwards or how to go back.

And then I knew what I had to do with what I had left of my hopes and dreams...I had to decide whether they were worth saving.

-----

**VII.**

"Lily, I assure you we'll do our very best," the Healer consoled me, placing a bracing hand on my shoulder.

I swallowed thickly as I saw Gwen, white as marble with her honey brown curls spread around her face. "You're my last hope, Fabian. Muggle doctors have done all they can…if you can't –"

Fabian Prewett shook his head, giving me his usual crooked smile that reminisced of our old days at Hogwarts together. "Untrusting as ever, I see. Well, let me put it to you this way: since the outbreak of the war, I've worked plenty on cases like your cousin. Shocked and comatose because of the Cruciatus curse's effects – it's not abnormal at all. I mean, two years ago, we didn't have a chance of treating cases like hers. But with all of this new research lately," he added, arching his dark brown eyebrows at me, "We're getting most cases like Gwen's cured."

My eyes lit up, and I broke into my first genuine smile in two years. "Really?"

"Really." Fabian grinned, patting me on the back. "I can't make any promises, but..."

"That's all I can ask for," I nodded, running my hands over my face. "And even if - even if you can't do anything at all - well," I swallowed, gazing at Gwen. "Well, at least she'll know I did my best."

"That's all she could ask for, Lily," Fabian reassured me.

I sighed, breathing in the fresh air that flowed from the open window. "Right, you're right."

I turned, my whole body more fully alive than it's ever been, and headed out of Gwen's room at St. Mungo's. Just as my hand reached for the brass doorknob, Fabian called, "Hey, Lily."

"Yes?" I asked, facing him.

"Welcome back to the magical world," Fabian said quietly. "We've missed you."

Smiling again, I nodded. "It's great to be back home."

I walked out of the hospital, my head held high once again, the colors of the world sharpened and thriving around me. Inhaling a revitalizing gulp of air, I breathed in the Lily I had lost, and she sank inside me.

But something was still missing. My eyes trailed over the bustling London street, the chattering of the crowd, the whines of cars and trucks, and the crashes of construction work deafened to my ears. An optometrist's office was across the street from me, its cheesy advertisement sign in the shape of giant glasses, staring at me.

_James_.

If I ask you to, will you come back? If I ask you to, will you give me everything once more?

James, if I ask you to, will you love the new Lily?

-----

He came back.

And that's the first thing I remember. At least, after I woke up to find my reality and fantasies dissolved together, like twilight mixed from night and daylight. Just enough light to see, but also to dream as well.

I achingly melted into him, yearning for everything that he offered me in our soaring kiss… the everything he had promised to me and that I now reclaimed once again, this time with the wisdom and smile I needed to have in order to understand it.

But James offered me much more than that. He knew me better than anyone else, save for my parents and Gwen…I had found myself through their help, but I couldn't have done it without James's love that overflowed me, like a refreshing sea wave that turned me inside out and exposed my fears and hopes nakedly on the warm beach under the light of his eyes.

But all he did was envelop me with himself, giving me the reassurance I needed, thawing my heart. Yet James's possession of me was tenderly captivating while at the same time gloriously liberating. He knew me, and he let me go, watching with a wide grin as I walked away, treading the caressing ocean's gentle surf flowing beneath my wandering bare feet.

_END_


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